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He looked up and down at the white, two storey Edwardian home. A moonbeam lit his gorgeous face, and a film of moisture remained on his lips from our kiss, which I was dying to continue.
The thought of his hot, hungry lips smothering mine sizzled through me. I was all sticky and swollen, and all I could think of was stripping naked and his hands all over my body.
“You really live here?” he asked, following me up the path to the red door with the brass lion-head knocker.
“My mother does. I stay here sometimes.”
After we stepped into the hallway, I tapped the sequence to disarm the alarm and turned on the lights.
He seemed to hover at the entrance. I couldn’t believe how difficult it was for Drake. He was either seriously shy or just uncertain about me.
Probably both.
“Come on then, I promise not to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
His mouth tugged slightly at one end. That was the most expressive he’d been since that kiss.
We entered a room filled to the brim with antiques. All purchased by my mother, who didn’t just copy Grandmother’s style in hair and clothes but also furnishings and decorations. I even recognised certain pieces. My mother’s time playing maid at Merivale had given her a lesson in taste.
“Can I make you a drink or something to eat?”
Drake settled onto the burgundy velvet sofa. In that fitted blue polo that accented and, therefore, made his eyes ever bluer and his regular Levi’s that I’d already noted for the way they fitted his arse, he looked more like an intruder than a visitor.
But that was how I’d always felt in that house. Nothing seemed real. Everything in its place. My mother had become a stickler for perfection. Once again, copied from her time at Merivale because before she’d moved into her rich woman phase, my mother had been a slob. Growing up, I had been the one who’d washed the dishes or put things away.
“No. It’s okay.”
I slanted my head. “Are you still pissed off with me?”
He crossed his large, bruised hands. His long pause confirmed that something was eating at him.
“You could have had that boy locked away for something he didn’t do. Wouldn’t that have bothered you?”
“No way. It would have taught him to stop acting like a tosser. He tried to hit on me, and he called me a bitch. Remember?” I walked off and grabbed some coke from the fridge and brought out a packet of crisps.
I poured him a glass of coke and passed it to him. “I can put some Scotch in that if you like.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m good.”
“You’re so fucking serious, Drake. Lighten up.”
I joined him on the couch and moved up close. “Are you gay?”
He sprung off the sofa like he’d sat on a spider. “Look, enough of the fucking games. I’m not fucking gay.” He brushed away the lick of hair from his eyes. “I want you, Manon. Always have. From the moment I fucking laid eyes on you.”
That made my cheeks warm. “You’ve got me. I’m here.” I unbuttoned my blouse, and his eyes went straight to my tits, which spilled out of my tiny bra.
Normally, I manipulated the moment easily enough with a pout or bending over at the right moments, but Drake was deeper than that.
That was why I wanted him more than my next fucking breath.
I wanted his hands and mouth all over me. My panties were soaked, and there was this throbbing ache in my pussy. I didn’t normally get so aroused from a kiss.
I undid my bra, and my heavy boobs fell naked.
His eyes went heavy with lust, and I noticed a bulge grow in his jeans.
I wiggled out of my pants and stood before him in my thong.
